The Warlock's Witch
by sfaye-chan
Summary: A series of one-shots written in honor of the Gray Witch herself, without whom Lelouch's revolution, and everything that came after, would never have been possible. Focused on the part she played throughout it all, as his accomplice, witch, and empress, and how the end affected her. Because she is the catalyst, the agent of change, and the trigger Lelouch needed to begin his path.
1. I: The Eternity Promised to Them

**A/N:** Like the summary to this mentions, this set of one-shots will be dedicated to C.C. and will focus on the role she played in Code Geass, and in Lelouch's life. Because I can't stand what happened in the ending, and my mind's been running rampant ever since I rewatched the series to get a better feel for TTHM (which will come soon, I promise) and I rewatched that scene between C.C. and Lelouch in the room after they discovered Nunnally was alive and Suzaku tells C.C. that whole bit about how he is Lelouch's sword and C.C. is his shield before leaving. That scene won't be featured here, in this particular one-shot, so I don't exactly know why I'm mentioning it, but I digress.

 **Title:** The Eternity Promised to Them

 **Summary:** She stares at him through hooded eyes; at the life and death mingling in his gaze, at the sins and the loathing that weighs down on him without pause. She should be immune to this. She's lived for centuries. She's experienced countless wars—countless lives—and she shouldn't be hurting. But she is.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Code Geass or any of its characters.

* * *

 _the eternity promised to them_

* * *

"Listen well and heed my words, Lelouch, Suzaku. From now on, I declare that you are my enemies." Nunnally's voice wavers just the slightest bit, but it holds enough hatred and fury to pierce their guards, bite into their strongholds, and bring their masks down.

 _…So this is your plan, Schneizel,_ C.C. thinks angrily, her fingers curling into fists. It has to be him. Because it's impossible to forget the loving girl Nunnally was at Ashford—so gentle and understanding and patient that this _has_ to have been Schneizel's fault. She sees the edges of Nunnally's lips—they're set into a frown—quiver. She grits her teeth.

"Nunnally…" Lelouch breathes out in shock, leaning forward in his seat as his eyes widen. He trembles slightly; he will never be prepared to face his sister in battle, and C.C. knows it. "It's you. You're _alive_."

"Yes," Nunnally responds levelly. "Thanks to our brother, Schneizel."

"… _Schneizel_ ," Lelouch hisses as the first drops of realization dawn on him. C.C.'s eyes narrow—she can see the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the armrests tightly.

"Nunnally, do you understand what Schneizel has _done_?" Suzaku asks, his voice firm. It hasn't cracked yet, unlike Lelouch's, but C.C. doesn't miss the desperate edge to his tone.

"Yes. He attacked the capital, Pendragon, with a F.L.E.I.J.A. warhead."

"If you know about that, then _why_?" Suzaku demands, heart caught in his throat.

"Do you think that using Geass on people is better?" Nunnally asks in response, practiced and prepared. Suzaku falls back into silence as his shock overpowers him and he loses his voice. "Both you and big brother have been lying to me from the very beginning, haven't you? You've kept the truth from me all this time," she continues. (C.C. keeps one eye on Lelouch and her jaw shifts when she sees the _anguish_ staining his gaze at his sister's accusations. _Stop this,_ C.C. begs silently. _He's doing all this for you._ Only Nunnally can bring him so much distress.) "But… now I know everything."

Everything?

C.C. resists the urge to bark with laughter. It isn't funny, not even a little, she thinks. But the sheer _irony_ of this situation isn't lost on her. _No, Nunnally, you don't. Not everything._ She bites her lip and casts Lelouch a concerned glance, slightly relieved to see that he's regained his composure—only no, he isn't as fine as he pretends to be, and she knows it. She can practically hear his heart shattering.

"Lelouch, you were Zero all along, weren't you?"

Lelouch stiffens, his shoulders hiking up and tensing in the face of her words. His breath hitches, and C.C.'s eyes fly to him reflexively, worriedly.

"Why?" Nunnally pleads. "Tell me! Were you doing it for my sake? Because if you were, then that means—"

"For _your_ sake?" Lelouch snaps back, insanity in his eyes as he straightens his back from his hunched position and raises his head to glare at her. He practically _cackles_ at the inference, and C.C. flinches a little at the sound. At the madness. "I see my little sister is as presumptuous as ever," he sneers derisively.

Nunnally falls silent, shaken by his outburst. She swallows thickly, her breath caught in her throat.

"You think it's just _natural_ for people to help you, out of sympathy and pity?" Lelouch drawls, his voice gaining a sliver of venom. C.C. looks away, noticing the cracks in his gaze and the _slightest_ tinge of agony injected into his posture. She notices it only because she knows him, because she knows to look for it. "It's so _easy_ to criticize others while you keep your own hands unsullied, isn't it?" he rants.

Nunnally whimpers a little, her own steely expression breaking at his response. C.C. imagines that she's the only one who notices the way Lelouch's interlocked hands shake helplessly as he locks away the frightened little ten-year-old boy still inside him; the boy begging for justice to be given to his mother and sister. He was denied then, and she imagines he's too guarded to let himself be denied a second time—by the very same sister he'd do anything for (no, he already _did_ everything for her), no less.

"You are the _quintessence_ of the privileged aristocrat that I've rejected," he snarls. C.C. wonders how hard it must be for him to dismiss his own sister in this way.

"You… _no_ ," Nunnally gasps in pain.

"I act for no one's sake," Lelouch declares, voice oozing with anger and the same haughty arrogance he always presents as emperor. He relaxes into his seat, leaning back and resting his arms—a whisper away from the console on his armrest, preparing and desperate to end the call, C.C. thinks—but even turned away from him, even facing the other direction, C.C. _knows_ that his stance is fraught with outrage. "It is for me, _my_ sake, that I take the world into my hands." His eyes narrow as, beneath his contacts, his Geass courses wildly and uncontrollably through his veins, surging into his eyes.

"If you choose to stand in my way by allying yourself with Schneizel, then I won't _hesitate_ to crush you without mercy, and without _regret_." His finger jabs down on one of the buttons on the control panel, severing the connection between them quickly and furiously—his finger moves with all the anger that led him to denying his parents, denying their plan, denying the end of time itself, as if he wishes he is capable of realigning the truth and changing reality itself.

"Lelouch—!" Nunnally calls out in protest, cut off when the screen fades away into static.

The silence is deafening, for a moment ( _suffocating,_ she thinks, better fits the situation, because she can barely breathe and Lelouch is heaving) before it is broken by the Knight of Zero. " _Lelouch_ ," he starts, his voice tense and stern and there is an underlying tone to it that C.C. can neither ignore nor overlook.

"I believe you have your duties to return to, _Sir Kururugi_ ," C.C. interrupts icily, glaring at him. Swiftly, before Lelouch can say anything, she drops the line between them and Kururugi. His face disappears from the screen without delay, and she allows herself to relax, just slightly.

She doesn't hesitate before crossing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around him, closing her eyes as he leans into her embrace. His heartbeat and his cries are muffled by her as she presses against him, and she can almost fool herself into believing that she's only doing this to comfort him.

But, no. The familiarity of his body hidden by hers soothes her as well, in ways she'd never admit. Here, she can forget about her curse. Here, entrapped by her, he is _solid,_ he is _constant,_ and she can forget that soon, he will leave her, too, just as everyone else has.

"C.C.—" he chokes out, a strangled sob catching in his throat.

She hushes him gently, and he caves as he submits to the solace she provides him. "Your sister is alive," she whispers into the fabric of his suit, white and gold and not at all stained by the blood—his own, this time—that he is fated to spill, soon.

 _Soon, but not now,_ she reminds herself sternly. For now, he isn't going anywhere. And neither is she.

"Nunnally…" he murmurs brokenly.

"You're doing this for her," she says softly. She pretends not to notice the way his back and shoulders convulse as he weeps for his sister, not dead but still _gone_. She is undeniably and unavoidably lost to him, forever. "You always have been."

He doesn't say what he wants to, what they're both thinking of. He doesn't say that, to him, it doesn't _matter_ anymore what intentions he harbored as he began all of this, because Nunnally denied him. She rejected his plans, his actions, his _designs._ (Even though it's for her sake; even though it's to bring about the gentler world Nunnally dreams of, so she may live without the judgment of others pressing down on her, condemning her.)

"It's all for her," C.C. repeats, and she holds him like that until they land. It is now, as he mourns his sister, who chose to stand against him in a battle that has always been fought for her, that she sees the child in him—not the prince, not the emperor, not the fearless vigilante who took on the burden of the people's hopes and dreams—as he used to be. And yet he is still the most powerful man in Britannia—no, she corrects herself, in the world—the Demon Emperor feared by the unanimous public. He isn't allowed to be that little child, quaking in fear as his entire world is stolen from beneath his feet and he can do nothing but watch helplessly (he is so, so helpless) while he falls into the endless abyss awaiting him. Shouldering the hatred of his subjects, and the world at large, he can don only the mask of the demon, cackling as he rips apart families and lives and legacies—both from his enemies and from the innocent.

He is king. And that is all he can be. (They are nearing the end, now, where the world will bear witness to his grand finale, his requiem, and it is far, far too late to turn back.) And now that they can do nothing but grieve for what is to come, she is glad for his tears, because it stops him from realizing that she is crying, too, silently and without shaking but still _crying_. It stops her from dwelling on the ache inside her chest.

(Sometime later, only seconds before the plane descends, he exhales, his breath warm and _alive_ on her skin, and murmurs appreciatively, "Thank you, Cera."

…No matter how many times he's thanked her before, it still brings her surprise. She flushes, subconsciously tightening her grasp on him. She says nothing, but she doesn't need to. He is the first of her contractors to have genuinely said _thank you_ to her, and it always leaves a dash of heat spreading through her.)

* * *

She stays far away from him on the day of his prisoners' execution. Or, no, she thinks bitterly and corrects herself: the day of _his_ execution. She doesn't think she can stick to the plan and just _watch_ as he is stabbed without _doing_ something. Anything.

So she doesn't follow him, doesn't embark his float with him when the sun rises and the time comes. He doesn't question her, and neither does anyone else.

Instead, she offers herself to the deity the people call God and walks into the church, footsteps slow and silent in a pretense of respect. The air is heavy with quiet, almost blanketing her (she can't help but think of the execution, miles away, and the _noise_ there will be; the _cheers_ ), but she doesn't run away.

She kneels by the altar, head bowed and hands clasped together in prayer. She can think only of Lelouch, of his sacrifice, of the way his name will be hated and his grave spat upon as his deeds will always remain unsung and uncelebrated.

 _Lelouch,_ she grieves. The corner of her eyes crease, and she whispers an apology that exits her mouth and falls, like a feather, onto the floor of the church with no consequence, no chaos, no _nothing_.

She drags her head up and pictures him, envisioning his proud gaze and the way his face is drawn and marked with lines, far too old and weary and mature for his age. "Lelouch... as the price you must pay for casting Geass on others, you..." The first tear of many flees from the confines of her eyes and slips down her cheeks, unchecked. _Lelouch,_ she mourns.

She imagines him whispering back, so softly she almost doesn't catch it: _Cera,_ he mouths.

She almost sobs. Instead, she drops her gaze again, banishing the image from her mind and strangling the ever-persistent despair in the deep recesses of her soul as it begs her for escape.

* * *

 _"Please," he begs. His hands are clasped in front of him, and she sees desperation in his eyes. She knows his expression is one that a million others would kill for, but she cannot bring herself to appreciate his desire._

 _She turns away from him and his plea, her chest heavy. "Your Zero Requiem will throw the world into chaos," she hisses. She means that it will throw_ her _into chaos._

 _"Cera," he says. The sincerity in his voice when her name rolls off his tongue makes her flinch. "Please, Cera."_

 _"I can't," she says. She tries to sound cold but she hears something vulnerable in her voice and it makes her snap. "I can't," she repeats. Her voice breaks; she hears his breath catch. "Why does it have to end your way?"_

 _His eyes close. She glimpses his expression through their bedroom mirror and tries to clutch onto it with her hands. She imprints the memory of his face into the back of her eyelids and sears it into her mind forever. "You can see it, just as I do, Cera. This is what the world needs. Remaking."_

 _"And you?" she whispers. He says nothing. The world and the galaxy shatters in their room. She looks away. "I can see everything, everywhere. I can see_ infinity _." She pauses, holds in the explosion inside her skin, and continues, "Infinity is a cold, lonely, place, Lelouch."_

 _"I'm sorry," he says—he sounds earnest, but she hates it._

 _"You promised." Her voice is hushed. She sees him wince and her throat chokes up. "You promised!" She is howling, just as the wind will when Zero's sword impales the emperor. Just as the crowds will when their Demon Emperor falls before his slayer. "You told me you'd grant me my wish! You said you were my warlock!"_

 _"I wish I could be."_

 _"You can't," she sobs. "Warlocks do not die."_

 _"Cera…"_

 _"And you will," she finishes sharply._

 _"I'm sorry," he says it quietly. It lets her know that he will not change his mind. His arms squeeze her tightly, and he weeps with her. She wants to tear herself away, but his grip is tight and warm, reminding her of the times they've shared, so she stays in his arms. "I wish I could live through forever with you. To be with you, forever is but a small price to pay."_

 _"Forever is a large commitment," she says, because she senses his sadness and she wants to play along, for both their sakes._

 _"Nothing is too much when it comes to you."_

 _She stops playing. His_ devotion _is too much. And yet… "After Zero has carried the world away on his shoulders, and the people have left you, and even the sun has forgotten you to give rise to the moon, will you meet me?"_

 _"Always."_

 _"…Ashford," she says. She cannot taste the promise in his words, but she savors it anyway. Because she wishes._

 _He smiles painfully. "The courtyard."_

 _She says nothing._

 _"Eternity will be our story," he promises. "As the sun will always give us light, I will always love you."_

She screams.

She jerks in her bed, twisting unnaturally in the covers. Someone—through blurry eyes, she makes out concerned hazelnut eyes—barges into her room without so much as a knock. She doesn't care. She can't bring herself to.

"C.C.," the maid gasps.

It is only when she raises her fingers to her face that she feels the dampness of her cheeks and realizes that she is crying.

"C.C.," Sayoko repeats. "Are you alright? What happened?"

She inhales, the breath of air cutting through her and bringing with it a jolt of coldness. "I'm fine," she snaps. She is barely aware that she is shaking, even though the covers are warm—they smell of Lelouch—and the sun is burning through her window. "It was… just a dream," she murmurs. _Just a dream,_ she echoes to herself. _No. A memory._

Sayoko stays silent, waiting for her to continue, so she does: "Something... important. To me."

"I'm sorry," Sayoko says. Pity is in her eyes, and C.C. looks away. They both know what is on her mind.

"Leave me," C.C. says. It is more a whisper than a command, but Sayoko obeys with a respectful bow. The door closes after her.

Something important. She almost laughs.

She remembers him too vividly to fool Sayoko, much less herself.

 _And if the sun falls?_ she asks Lelouch. The color of his amethyst eyes are burned into her; they brand her, and she cannot escape his ghost. _When the storm comes and erases the sun from sight, will you still love me? When thunder sounds and the first bolt of lightning strikes, will you still love me?_

 _Are you still mine?_

"Eternity will be our story," he told her. But he is dead, and eternity belongs to the living, to the immortal, to _time_.

He is gone.

She cries for him, her hands fisting her— _their_ —blanket (the fabric curls back into her grip, almost like Lelouch's hand as he interlaces his fingers with hers—no, _no,_ she snarls to herself; she can't stop thinking about him and the empty space occupied only by his absence and it _wounds_ her), and the cold takes her, because this time, he isn't here to cry with her.

* * *

It is nighttime, and even though she knows better, she arrives at Ashford, her feet bringing her to the courtyard she knows he will never set foot in again, regardless of their promise. (Not much of a promise, she thinks to herself.) But she can't help herself. For the first time, she _longs_ for eternity. Their eternity.

She's alone for a long few minutes before she hears someone approach. A set of footsteps, not her own, comes to a rest beside her. C.C. almost jumps. She sighs at the interruption and wishes she is still alone, but doesn't walk away.

Her eyes are trapped by the gaze of the stars.

"I love to come out here, you know?" a voice mutters from beside her, and this time, C.C. does turn around. She sees gold and laughs brokenly.

"Me, too," C.C. says. "I… I wish we had more time."

"We?" Milly Ashford asks.

C.C. doesn't know Milly personally—all she remembers is that, when she asked him in the dead of night a long, long time ago, Lelouch told her he trusted Milly. But she says, honestly, "We were accomplices."

"I see."

"Everyone thinks he betrayed the world, you know," she whispers. She doesn't know whether she's saying it for Lelouch's sake, to let his memory be cherished by those he used to call friends, or for her own sake. She sees Milly's eyes, brimming with misty grief, and she wonders if it is for Milly's sake. "The only one he betrayed is me."

"Who was he?" Milly asks, captivated.

"…he was a great man. Greater than great." She turns, grabs the candle she brought with her, and sits down on the grass. Milly, wonderingly, follows her. With a twig she finds on the ground, C.C. scratches out Lelouch's name, her handwriting uneven and squiggly on the candle. Her hand is still shaking, even when she is done and his name is spelt.

Quietly, wordlessly, she sets down the lavender candle, reminiscent of his eyes, in the fountain.

She hears Milly inhale sharply beside her. As if she is alone, C.C. murmurs, "You promised me forever, Lelouch. In the end, though, you gave me a finite road, but that's not your fault, is it? Like you said. The world needed it. I'm sorry I couldn't have supported you. I'm sorry I still can't."

She watches the candle bob away, carried by the wind like Lelouch was carried away by the spirits.

"He… he touched so many people's lives," Milly is saying. "Damnit, Lelouch. He should have just lived. Emperor or no emperor."

She agrees.

She wishes Lelouch could have been satisfied with an oppressed peace.

"He saved everyone, and for what?" she says, to the wind.

Milly stays quiet.

C.C. answers her own question: "For an army who could not trust him, a best friend who betrayed him, a council who doubted him, a sister who told him he was a monster, a knight who would have followed him to hell for all the wrong reasons… and an empress who did not love him enough."

Milly's cry, silent as it is, is the most heartbreaking thing C.C. has heard in a while.

They sit, both shaking, both sobbing, both watching as the glimmer of purple drifts further and further away from them.

* * *

"Are you a witch?"

She is at the supermarket, browsing through the many aisles and dropping countless fruits and vegetables into her trolley when she is interrupted. It is a young voice, unscarred by the mark of adulthood.

Her heart is failing her when she turns around and sees an ocean of purple.

She laughs at the thought that she will always be a witch, to him. And she laughs more because she doesn't mind, if she is _his_ witch.

"Am I?" she says with a shaky smile. "Do I look like a witch?"

The boy with Lelouch's eyes grins. "You'd make a very pretty witch," he declares, squinting at the bright green of her hair.

"You've never seen green hair before?" she asks, wishing he could stop staring so intently. She feels vulnerable, as if he can see inside her.

"Not in real life," he murmurs. "You look like one of the queens in my history book."

She chuckles, because she _is_ the queen pictured in all the history books, standing beside the tyrannical king of the era. "I could be a queen, if you want," she suggests. "But I'd need a king."

She winks, and he blushes furiously, not at all like Lelouch, and it makes her look away. Lelouch would never blush. He'd scoff and roll his eyes.

A woman with curly raven hair runs toward them. "I'm so sorry if my son has disturbed you," she apologizes, distressed, running a hand through her hair and further disheveling it.

And yet it is still Lelouch. Undoubtedly. She can see her warlock in his eyes, in his unfailing enthusiasm— _determination_ —and the fire that still refuses to die. "Oh, no, not at all," C.C. says with a small smile.

* * *

Her heart almost stops when she sees the searing shade of violet emblazoning the eyes of another man. Inside, she screams. Outside, she stays silent and walks away from the reminder of everything she has lost.

"Excuse me?"

This time, she almost falls. Her heart stampedes in her chest and she turns to face the man, who is Lelouch and yet not at the same time. "Yes?" she says. Her voice sounds foreign, even to her.

He smiles, tentatively. "I apologize for disturbing you, but my wife saw you earlier and she was wondering if you needed a ride?"

Her heart falls. His wife. Of course—she'd seen the shadow of a woman standing beside him, but she is blind to everything but him.

Even though her mind screams at her to look away, she falls to temptation and glances back at where his wife stands. She sees a shock of ginger, almost orange, hair and eyes the color of sea glass.

"Miss?" he ventures.

But she is too enraptured by the sight of another Shirley, tall and happy and smiling. The woman shines with all the joy a past Shirley used to dream of sharing with Lelouch.

The same dream she now harbors, under the judging glare of the sun and in the middle of the night when she is alone, and nobody is there to judge her for the tears she cries as that dream constantly eludes her, slipping through her fingers and running away from her.

"No," she denies. "I'll be fine, thank you."

He blesses her with a beautiful smile, the same one that used to make so many girls fall for him, and she walks away quickly.

It is too much.

He is too much.

* * *

The next time she sees him is in the news. She's sitting in a cafe, browsing through the paper when she spots the familiar shade of amethyst standing out amongst the mute sea around him. She drops the sheet of newspaper and almost laughs at her own clumsiness. Shouldn't she be over this shock by now? How can he still affect her like this?

He's standing beside his wife, their hands on the shoulders of a little child, no older than seven, and she flinches. ( _They look so happy,_ a venomous part of her mind thinks traitorously.) But she flinches more when she realizes it's an old picture—he looks as young as he was when he approached her as a concerned woman's husband, many years ago—and dread sinks into her stomach.

She scans the passage of text quickly. And despite the fact that he is not Lelouch, not _her_ Lelouch, she still feels a stab of pain as she drops her face into her hands and refuses to cry. She blinks back the tears. It stings, but she tells herself it isn't her place to shed tears over a stranger. (Only not a stranger, never a stranger.) She doesn't have the right.

And besides. She's a witch. Emotionless and heartless and uncaring. She _does not_ cry.

She pays for her drinks and leaves the cafe, dropping the rolled-up newspaper into the trash can as she passes it on the way to the door. She already knows she's never going to this cafe again. Not when it's the place she sat in as she read about the deaths of Julius Kingsley and his family.

There's a familiar heavy weight on her shoulders, a burden she cannot escape. And this time, stepping out into the afternoon rain, she doesn't try to run.

* * *

And so life goes on.

 _(Life goes on, except it is not Lelouch she wakes to, Lelouch she inhales as she breathes, Lelouch she sees against the vision of the dawning sun, and Lelouch she savors.)_

* * *

 **fin.**

* * *

 **A/N:** I don't know. I guess I still can't get over the ending. And, before any of you mention it, I know that season 3 is coming out. And I can't _wait_ to see Lelouch alive, because hell, if there was one thing I hated about Code Geass, it was the ending. Or more specifically, Lelouch's ending. Honestly, I'm not surprised I decided to write this (I am an avid fan of C.C. x Lelouch, amongst other pairings). I will likely be adding to this as time passes—though, of course, not all of the one-shots will be focusing on C.C. and Lelouch only; there will always be C.C. as this one-shot series _is_ centered on her, but there will also be other characters—but as for now, there are the next chapters for TTHM in line—which, considering that I'm almost at the halfway point, which I've taken as my rounding point for when to break off and divide the episode into two chapters, should be coming soon. To be honest, the first one-shot I wrote and intended to upload to this set isn't this one, so there is actually already another one lying somewhere in my folders; I changed my mind and decided to post this one before it—not for any particular reason—so there is that to come later.


	2. II: Once Upon a Time

**Title:** Once Upon a Time

 **Summary:** Nunnally remembers what it was like to be a child. Probably not like these children were—assured of the peace in their futures, assured of everything—because her life has never been sure. But she had still once been a child. And she remembers.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

 _once upon a time_

* * *

 _"Once upon a time, there lived a prince. His father was the great emperor of the lands, but the prince hated his father. His father was a tyrant who ruled over his kingdom with an iron fist, condemning the weak as he praised the strong. In the king's world, there was no such thing as defeat. The flags he waved were smoking guns used to conquer and oppress those who would defy him."_

Nunnally never really outgrew her love of fairytales. She still loves them—she thinks it might be because they remind her of her brother, and happier times at the Kururugi Shrine, at Ashford Academy.

Sometimes, when she lies in her bed at night to go to sleep, her eyes will catch on the painting hanging on the opposite wall, depicting her mother, her brother, and herself—depicting a _family_ , she thinks with longing. And she'll dream of a better world—not necessarily a more peaceful world, because the world she lives in now is certainly kind, but a world where she still has them. Family.

So it shouldn't have surprised Zero when, after they finished negotiating the terms of their alliance with the Prime Minister of Japan, she requested to be brought to the nearest orphanage. And it shouldn't have stunned him to see her smile at the flock of children, tears in her eyes as she set about regaling them with fairytales.

Both tales of old, and tales he has never heard before. Like this one.

 _"The prince, locked in a gilded cage masquerading as a palace, was blind to the plight of the outside world. He had his mother and his many siblings to distract him from the sins of his father. But one day, his mother's life was taken, and with her death, his illusion of a perfect life was finally shattered. He experienced his father's cruelty firsthand when the king denied his mother the justice she deserved."_

There is a small smile on the empress' face, but Zero doesn't relax. Because while the man he parades around as does not know her, _Suzaku_ does and so he _knows_ that she isn't fine.

He can see the tightness of her stance and the weariness in her voice, the bitterness on her face and in her smile, the sadness in her eyes. He can see the way her fingers curl tightly around her royal dress, squeezing and strangling the ribbons and lace and cloth. He can see her pain.

She can't fool him. Not anymore.

 _"The prince was furious. A few days after his mother's body was torn apart by bullets and her soul passed on, finally released from its mortal coil, he stormed into his father's throne hall while court was in session. He demanded vengeance for his mother; he questioned the king's judgment and was so punished for it. Angered by the prince's gall, the king decreed that he, along with his injured sister, be sent to foreign land to further negotiations with its head._

 _"The prince had no choice but to obey. He stewed in his fury as he and his sister were tossed away like pawns, discarded once the protection their mother had afforded them was gone and they had fulfilled their usefulness."_

Nunnally laughs quietly in her mind; a sad, mirthless laugh. She didn't realize it then, but the night her mother died, so did her brother. His body still lived on, but the love and laughter and liveliness in his mind was gone, draining away as their mother was buried—after their banishment to Japan, he smiled only for her sake.

"Your Majesty," Zero prompts from beside her, a breathless whisper. She hears the starch in his voice and a wry smile twitches at her lips.

She nods in acknowledgement, her eyes straying to the children gathered in front of her, eyeing her with excitement and curiosity.

They are just like her. Like the sheltered girl she used to be, protected from the harsh truths of war and chaos and death.

She lifts her hands to her face, examining them for a brief second. They are clean and smooth—perfectly unblemished and unscarred—but she can still see the blood. The blood of the thousands who died at her hands, perishing in the instant it took for the F.L.E.I.J.A. to eliminate them.

She flinches and drops her hands to her lap. She can never forget. And she doesn't want to, not when forgetting means accepting—not when it means she's forgiven herself for what she has done.

And she will never forgive herself.

But she gazes at the children, at their childish innocence and all the happiness that comes with their youth, and she bites back a sigh. She focuses on their smiles as she continues from where she left off, barely hearing the words that leaves her mouth as she weaves her brother's tale. Their tale.

 _"For months, all the prince could think about was justice. Justice for his mother. He wanted his father to pay. And that desire strengthened when the first bombs began to rain down upon the place of residence they stayed at, and a familiar army started to invade. He recognized the approaching fleet with a sinking feeling in his stomach: it was his father's army. He and his sister had been abandoned by the king, for good._

 _"So it stopped being about revenge only. Because during those perilous times when he, his sister, and the boy they'd befriended, fled for their lives and hid from the ruthless soldiers, the prince witnessed the deaths of entire civilizations. The slaughter of an undeserving people. He watched in horror, unable to do anything, as women and children alike were massacred beneath the uncaring march of his father's men._

 _"They wept as they traversed the soil of the dead and the dying, looking away in shame as they were forced to turn a blind eye to the suffering around them for the sake of their own survival. Strong men were reduced to groveling messes at their feet, women begged to be saved, and children cried for their parents, as they all bled without pause."_

She is in the middle of her storytelling, her voice soft and sinfully rich despite the horrors exiting her lips, when she stops abruptly, her toes curling. _What am I doing?_ she asks herself. _These are children. I shouldn't be telling them these things, not now, not when we have peace. They… they will live innocent, untainted and unmarred by our tragedies._

She sees the wide-eyed, unveiled horror of the children as they cover their mouths and pray for the prince, the princess and their friend, who were forced to endure a war.

She makes up her mind to gloss over the details, looking away guiltily.

 _"Looking upon the bleeding nation as it was sucked dry, the prince made up his mind. He vowed to overthrow his father, to squash the barbaric notions the king put into place, and to return peace and harmony to the kingdom. Soon after, he and his sister bid their friend goodbye as they went on their separate ways._

 _"The prince had immeasurable patience, but luck didn't favor him, and he faced innumerable obstacles in his path. He wanted to do good, but fate forced him to turn to evil to prevail. To meet his goals, he was willing to do anything, even commit sin. Now, the prince was a smart boy, and he knew that he couldn't hope to defeat his king of a father on his own. He knew that he would need power of his own._

 _"He received this power from a witch. The witch possessed the youthful beauty of a princess, but she was old and weary and tired of life. She wanted escape. So when she found the prince, she saw his potential and offered him the power he so craved. In exchange for this, the prince agreed to grant the witch a single wish._

 _"With her gift bestowed upon him, the prince was ecstatic. Finally, he thought, he could stop his father's evil reign and give his sister the peaceful world she dreamt of. But he didn't realize that her gift, his newfound power, was more of a curse than a blessing, until it was too late. Instead, he embraced the power and all of its benefits and began to claim allies of his own. He never noticed the way the power twisted him, corrupting him until he could no longer turn back._

 _"The prince was forced to continue on in his accursed path to good. He lied and lied to everyone, even his own subordinates. And he deceived his old friend as well, with whom he and his sister were reunited. Along the way, he rose to greatness and accomplished his goal: he defeated his father, the king, and forced him to see the wrong in his ways."_

Some of the children sigh in relief, laughing as they cheer for the prince. A hero, in their eyes.

Nunnally muses at the irony that, if they knew his name, his identity, they will call him monster.

She smiles sadly, knowing that she herself had, and interrupts their joy:

 _"But our story doesn't end there. Because, you see, he had to face the consequences of his actions. Those who once followed him began to doubt him, and those he relied on turned against him. In the midst of all the chaos, even the sister he loved most betrayed him, allying with his greatest enemy."_

She pauses as her breath catches in her throat and she stumbles for words. But she has to continue. She has to push on, if only so her brother can finally be understood and his deeds painted in justice. (She ignores the part of her that knows that, unless she wants to make everything her brother fought for— _died_ for—in vain, she cannot reveal the true identity of "the prince" in her retelling.)

One of the girls, sitting in the front row, gasps. "B-But why?" she asks in confusion, her brows furrowed. "He loved her!"

Nunnally flinches at the accusation, launching at her from the mouth of a child. "Yes," she answers quietly after a moment. "He did. He loved her very much." Her grip on her dress tightens painfully, and she doesn't miss the way Zero subtly shifts so that he is in front of her.

She laughs, this time. She knows he is concerned for her, and even though she hates it because it used to be her brother who worried about every little thing, she says nothing. Because there is nothing that can harm her here, not in a physical sense.

Only the reminder of what she did. Only the stinging words of a seven-year-old girl, wondering how a sister can betray her own brother. Nunnally wonders, too. She wonders why she didn't trust him, love him, enough.

 _"So the prince was forced to take arms yet again, driving away the attempts of his enemy as he sought to preserve his peace. Only this time, with his sister standing against him, he could find comfort only in the witch who offered him his power. He did not hate her, even though it was she who showed him the door to his new fate. He refused to blame her, because, to him, he was the one who opened that door and took the first step._

 _"And so the witch became one of the prince's greatest confidants. She became his shield, protecting him from his enemies as well as himself. She never wavered, even when the prince took on the hatred of the world for himself, even when he had to face everyone else as his enemy. She stayed by his side, the single constant in their inconsistent world. Together, they found happiness in unlikely times, never judging each other—even when the prince committed sins worse than his father's, she remained steadfastly beside him."_

It pains Nunnally to say it, but she knows it is the truth. When she turned away to side with Schneizel, it was C.C. who offered him her hand and picked up the pieces she left in her wake. It was C.C. who loved him, who held him as he cried. It was C.C. who never lost faith in him, in them.

"What happens after that?" one of the boys asks eagerly. He leans forward, intrigued and immersed in her story. "Does the prince win? Against his brother, and… against the hatred of the world?"

"… _he_ called it a victory," Nunnally answers softly. To her, it is no triumph, no decisive win. With him dead, it can never be a _victory_ , not to her. But it played out as he imagined it. It is his achievement, his win, even if she despises it. She gulps down tears. "You might say that he won, yes. He brought about the peace he vowed to—the peace he knew his sister wanted."

 _"Together with the witch, and his childhood friend, the prince schemed and schemed. They hatched his last plan, his great masterpiece—one no one but they, and their closest advisers, would know of. Their sacrifice would go unacknowledged, but the prince no longer cared. He wanted rest. He didn't want to be celebrated; he just wanted peace to unite his kingdom, and the world._

 _"Their plan was a vile one. The prince donned another mask: not the mask of a vigilante, as he once played as, but the mask of a tyrant. A monster worse than his own father. He continued his lie until the very end, refusing to let up even as his end neared._

 _"And that day finally came, without fail. His death was an agent of change. As so many others had before him, he bled out, able to smile now that his plan, and his peace, were finally brought to see the light of day. He left his friend behind to ensure that war never returned to their shores, and he left his witch behind in the hopes that she could finally live with unburdened happiness."_

"That's… that's so sad," one of them sobs. "He… just died?" Her face is shocked, her tears wetting her curly lashes and spilling over onto her cheeks.

 _Do you see this, Lelouch?_ Nunnally asks pleadingly. _This is your legacy. You are hated now, but perhaps you will not always be so. Even in small ways like this… I will honor what you've done for us all._

"Why did he have to die?" another complains. "He should have found a way to live! And what about the witch? His friend, his sister? How could he just _leave_ them?"

A girl nods emphatically. "Didn't he know they'd be hurt by his death? Even if his sister _did_ betray him, I'm sure she loved him, too…" she trails off.

Nunnally barks with laughter so bitter she wants to cry. She stops herself abruptly. "She did love him, too much," she agrees. "And he did know. He knew they'd be hurt. But, beneath all else, he was a selfish man. And he thought that the end would justify the means, that they would be able to move on, living in his peaceful world."

Zero, just barely noticeable through his posture, stiffens minutely. His shoulders broaden, tense and uncomfortable at the topic.

Nunnally ignores it, averting her eyes. She hates to see it. Hates to see that even Zero, even her brother's murderer, grieves his death.

* * *

Later that day, after they leave the orphanage, Nunnally asks to visit the Kururugi Shrine. They are already in Japan (he never gets tired of being able to think of his home as _Japan_ and know that it is true, Area 11 is no longer the designated name), after all, and Zero can never deny Nunnally anything. He has never been able to, not even as Suzaku.

Zero knows why—even though Lelouch has an official tombstone (the grave itself is empty) at the royal cemetery, they lowered his corpse into a grave at the Kururugi Shrine. It was Lelouch's request.

Personally, Zero didn't—and still doesn't—understand why Lelouch wanted his burial place to be in Japan, not after their betrayals, but he doesn't question it. (When he mentioned the request to Nunnally after she asked about where to bury him, she smiled a little and cried in the privacy of her suite.)

When they arrive at the old shrine, he stays a significant distance away from Nunnally, watching her as she slowly wheels herself over to the grave.

Respectfully, he finally looks away, gazing across the lake and remembering the last time he was here with Lelouch, the deceptive mask and guard the emperor put on relaxed for the moment but not fully discarded.

Nunnally's eyes rest on her brother's grave, unable to help herself as the tears well up inside her. She puts up a good front when she presents herself in public, but it's hard not to break down whenever she is back here, sitting in front of her brother's grave.

As she always does, she starts by telling him about her day, about her new life as empress. She continues until she can't anymore, until the words are stuck in her throat and she is too caught by the sadness in the fate he was doomed to live out.

"Were you watching me, onii-sama? Are you proud of me?" she whispers tearfully. "I… I hope you are. I hope that you're smiling, wherever you are… and that I've done your memory justice."

She almost looks away before she catches herself and sobs. No matter how painful it is, she refuses to close her eyes to her brother's death. Not when he has suffered for her sake, to make her dreams a reality. She swallows, crushing the part of her that is terrified. She can't afford to be afraid after all of the sacrifices he has made.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I should have known better. You are my brother, after all. A wonderful liar."

* * *

 _"Your brother loved you, Nunnally," the woman says quietly, her voice coated in misery. "He wanted you to be happy, to enjoy the peace he gave us all. Never forget that."_

 _Nunnally sobs, her face in her hands. "I just wanted to be with him," she confesses earnestly, seeking comfort. But it can never be her brother giving her that comfort, not anymore. "All I wanted was for us to live together, happily. For us to remain family, even despite our mother's death."_

 _"You_ were _family, Nunnally," the woman soothes. "You were his sister, the one he could never let go of. He wanted nothing more than to see you smile. He wanted a world where you wouldn't be judged for the disabilities your father thought made you weak."_

 _"I never asked for this!" she lashes out, shrieking. But it isn't anger she cries with. It is agony. And a weeping anguish. "I never wanted it to end this way…"_

 _"He knows," the witch whispers, pulling her warlock's sister into a hug. "He didn't either, Nunnally. And… he wanted you to know that, no matter what, you will always_ be _that sister. He never stopped loving you."_

 _"And… and you?" Nunnally asks shakily as she leans into C.C.'s consoling arms. "He loved you, too, didn't he? He had you by his side, always, to take care of him, right?" She sounds desperate for reassurance that her brother hadn't been alone in his loneliest hours._

 _"…He did," C.C. murmurs into Nunnally's dress. "You don't have to worry about that."_

 _The girl laughs breathlessly, sad and devastated by the poignancy of her brother's requiem. "I'm glad, then," she says. She swallows down her own guilt at not having been there for him, too. It's too late for regrets, she thinks. "I… thank you."_

 _"Don't thank me," C.C. denies. "None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for me. Remember that. And don't forget that he didn't mean any of what he said. You are his sister, his reason, his inspiration. He never wanted to lie to you… but he had to. And that's what it was. It was all a lie, an act."_

* * *

She doesn't try to stop herself when the strangled wail escapes her mouth and she starts to cry.

Through her blurry vision, she spots the two chess pieces on the tombstone, standing tall and indomitable in the gentle breeze. The black king and the black queen.

She wonders if it was C.C. who put them there and sobs louder, remembering how her brother and his witch—no, she corrects herself, his _queen_ —looked on their thrones, cold and impassive but _strong_ as they sat side-by-side, drawing on each other's resilience.

Her fingers are trembling so hard she almost drops the paper crane she is holding. She decided to bring it and offer it to remind herself—remind herself what she became empress for: the wish she made to her brother all those months— _years—_ ago, begging for a gentler world.

It came true, but at a price she would have never wanted to pay. The cost it came with, her brother's life, is higher than should be allowed. But she refuses to let it be in vain. She will continue to govern the world towards a brighter future so that, if he ever sees what's become of his sacrifice, he will be proud.

She barely manages to compose herself, still shedding tears as she presses a kiss onto the white paper (for the justice he upheld despite his claims of evil, she explained to Zero) and sets it on the tombstone. "I'll do my best to keep up this peace you granted us, and…" She hesitates, drawing back before her tears can stain the paper crane, and says, "I love you, onii-sama."

* * *

 _"When the last piece slid into place, and the curtains drew to reveal the grand finale, the wold was changed once again, and the people were carried along by the currents of a new dawn. An era of peace."_

* * *

 **fin.**


	3. III: Left Behind

**Title:** Left Behind

 **Summary:** he will die in two months and he seems to be forgetting that it is those left behind who suffer the most—she knows he will bleed and she can do nothing but love him.

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

 _left behind_

* * *

 **the emperor and his empress**

They walk together, close enough that if she leans even a centimeter further toward him they would be touching. But she doesn't, and they don't touch, because she knows—she _knows_ and it hurt, hurts, _hurts_ —that he will die, and she doesn't know what to _do._

They are accomplices.

But she hopes—deep inside her, so deep no one can see it (she can barely see it herself)—that they are something more.

Maybe, she muses, if they _were_ something more, he'd hesitate. Hesitate long enough that she can convince him that there's another way—a _better_ way—aside from the wretched, half-baked plan he concocted in a frenzy of desperation, in an attempt to keep his enemy—his _old friend_ —from killing him.

But, no. Kururugi will get to kill him anyway. And nothing he thinks up is ever half-baked.

He was— _is,_ she catches herself (he's not dead yet and she's glad for that)—a genius. Sometimes too much of a genius, she thinks, and inside, she wonders why she's aching.

She is broken. Broken and hollow and empty and unrecognizable. So hollow that she should have no heart _left_ to feel—no heart _left_ to hurt. And yet if she has to put a name to the feeling strangling her chest, it would be heartbreak.

 _("Don't be upset," he smiles, and his voice is soothing but his words do anything but soothe her. "You'll be fine. You're a witch, after all."_

 _"And you were a warlock."_

 _"Are, C.C," he corrects her gently. "Present tense."_

 _And, she thinks, there's no present tense to it because he is going to die and if he truly is a warlock, he wouldn't die—warlocks don't die, just like witches. He's going to die and leave her just like everyone else had, and time will pass and he will become nothing more than a cynical slip of a boy who earned a place in her memories. Memories that will fade, and she doesn't want him to.)_

Kururugi, unlike her, looked all-too-pleased at the thought of finally getting the justice—is it?—he thought he deserved (he still thinks so), and she wished so bad that she could wipe his smirk off his face. He had always been so arrogant, so cocky and so self-assured.

Much like Lelouch. But Lelouch is kind, an angel in demon's clothing.

And she wants to tell him—beg him—to reconsider, to call off the stupid— _stupid—_ Zero Requiem and to think about her for once.

But she doesn't. Because she betrayed him. She lied to him and deceived him and worked against him alongside his greatest enemies, and she has no right to challenge him when she betrayed him.

Her eyes, though, talk to him in the place of her mouth. _Please. Please, please, please,_ they say, but he doesn't hear. He's looking straight ahead, and he doesn't spare her even a single glance, and she feels like a little girl again.

The little girl who looked at the world with shining hopes and sparkling eyes, because she was loved by her family and she loved them back and she had still been so young.

When her parents—and her world—disappeared, and she was taken in by the nun—who _betrayed her_ like she betrayed Lelouch and _why did she betray him_ and she shouldn't have and if she could rewind time she'd change that because by the _Gods_ she shouldn't have betrayed him—she became only a shell of that little girl.

And then the nun forced the Code on her and she had been left alone, and she was even more alone when she finally said goodbye to the little girl in her.

But now she wishes she is young and little again, because back then everything had gone her way. And if she cried, people would fret over her and her parents would give her whatever she wanted.

And she wants to cry now—to plead, to beg, to grovel, to pray, to _break_ —but he doesn't do anything except face frontward and to the future, to certain death.

And he _will_ die.

She knows it, because there's no changing his mind. And Kururugi will not allow him to change his mind, anyway. But she hates it, and she wonders if she can kill Kururugi first, before he ever has a chance to draw his sword and impale Lelouch and kill him and murder him and slay him and take him away from her.

 _Why?_

The question originates from the deepest, darkest depths of her soul—depths she never even believed existed.

 _Why? Why, goddamnit—_

Lelouch knows. He _knows._ He knows very well—too well—that she curses her immortality, that she hates it because while everyone else dies around her, she's forced to stand back and watch and _survive._ Lelouch knows and he's still planning to go and die and leave her.

 _Why?_

Why can't he just stay alive? Why can't he stay with her?

 _("You're so curious," he murmurs when he thinks she isn't listening, and the way he's staring at her makes her feel special—not the special her other suitors used to bestow upon her, gifts in their hands and her Geass in their eyes—but a real special, a kind that leaves her all warm and tingly inside. "I've never met anyone quite like you."_

 _And she fights the urge to sit up and kiss him senseless because she's meant to be asleep and she isn't supposed to be listening to him._

 _And then he whispers her name, and she thinks it's a beautiful sound.)_

She blinks back tears and ignores the pain and the sting behind her eyes because she's the empress— _his e_ mpress—and she has a reputation to uphold. But if the people were to know that the emperor— _hers_ —is going to die, then would they blame her for crying?

(For a moment she forgets that he is hated by the world and she pretends he isn't, because if everyone loved him there would be no need for a Requiem—and his death—at all.)

Because he will die and still, _still,_ she doesn't know what to do.

She's had so many years of experience but right now she is clueless, and she'd do anything for him but what _can_ she do? She may be immortal but she's not God and she can't save him and he'll still die and why does he have to be the one dying and why can't she save him, he can't die, he can't, he can't, he _can't_ —

He's hers. He _promised_ her and it isn't _fair_.

He is meant to be her warlock. Warlocks don't leave their witches for _death_. Warlocks should conquer death and she asks—desperately—why he can't.

They were never supposed to fail, not them. They were always meant to be young and brilliant, laughing and outwitting their enemies with a third of the world at their fingertips. But infinity isn't them, she guesses. That's just her.

She bites back a sob and remembers the way he used to look at her—in awe. Now he just looks at her with regret, like he wants to imprint her into his mind forever before _the end,_ and she wishes she could take him by the hand and tell him, _don't worry, the world will wait for you._

But no, it won't. Because the world is so _unfair._

She has lost so much already—hasn't she lost enough?—but the world doesn't think so and so they're going to take her warlock away from her and he's hers. And she hates hates _hates_ the world for it.

He should belong to her.

But he doesn't and she doesn't understand why he belongs to death instead.

It's a fate he doesn't deserve. A fate that should never be given to him, because he is a knight of justice.

But then, and she should know, justice doesn't exist in the world.

 _(Why doesn't it? Justice should exist because if things were reasonable, he would be justice and—)_

She halts when he does, surprised at his sudden stop but not daring to speak and question him. She follows the direction of his gaze and she freezes, tensing. He is staring at a beautifully-framed—not that she's paying attention, because with Lelouch's death looming over the horizon, she has no right to be enjoying such luxuries—portrait hanging on the wall, and she recognizes the subjects of the painting in less than a split-second.

It is him. Him, and her, depicted as the rulers of Britannia. The emperor and empress.

Her heart squeezes painfully.

He looks beautiful in the painting, of course, with soulful amethyst eyes and silky black hair. But she doesn't see his beauty, or his grace, or elegance, or charm. Her eyes conjure up a blotch of red that stains his skin, and she's painfully aware of how the corridor is shrinking and shrinking and she's _suffocating_ but she can't do a thing about it, just like how she can't do anything about _him dying_.

The redness that spreads across his body is a red that sears and burns and crackles. But the fire is dying, and it hurts to breathe. His life slips out of him in pools and all she can do is watch—she reminds herself, sternly, that he isn't dying yet and it's only a painting, only her dreadful imagination, but at the same time she knows that it will happen to him very soon and she won't be able to do anything but stay in the shadows like a goddamn _coward._ She won't be there to catch him when he falls and slips in the same bloody red.

Just like people before him who had fallen.

She curses and snaps her mind back into place just in time to see the way Lelouch's teeth grit and his eyes lower evasively before he continues to walk.

She wants to reach out to him—to pull him back before he has the chance to meet Suzaku Kururugi's sword—but her arm falls just short of grasping his robe and she stares after him, words stuck in her throat but refusing to be coughed up.

 _Please don't die, please don't leave me alone, please stay here, please, I need you, I love you, please please please—_

And then she is running, chasing, speeding up so that she is beside him again—but still they do not touch. And between them is a distance she mourns, because she knows that it will only grow when he is brought before the executioner and the noose on his neck is tightened.

* * *

 **before the executioner**

The only death that will be paraded around today is the Demon Emperor's.

She knows this.

She _hates_ this.

She hates more than anything that he is walking—gliding—toward death's door ( _it's probably double doors,_ she remembers him saying when she brought it up to him, _because so many people die in a second, after all, so a wider entrance would be more practical_ ) confidently, with a smile and welcoming arms.

 _("What are you so worried about, Cera?"_

 _"What wouldn't I be worried about?" she whispers back and buries her head into his chest, into the white of his robes that will soon be stained by his blood. "You're a walking dead man."_

 _"I never knew you cared so much," he teases, and she bites back a snappy retort. There is no use in arguing when he will be a corpse, soon. "But you don't need to be concerned. I promise."_

 _She laughs hysterically._

 _"I'll be fine, Cera," he says, and she hears the doubt in his voice, the apology. She detests it—him. But at the same time, she doesn't. She can't. "I won't lose my way. You know I won't."_

 _"I know," she says miserably. She wants to say that she wishes he would. She wants him to look her in the eye and swear that he'll come back to her. But she knows he won't.)_

And she hates the way the masses look down upon him with venom and contempt and bitterness for the way he sits haughtily—on the throne of his float, no less—while he directs his row of prisoners to their execution, when in reality he is directing _himself_ to death, to oblivion.

 _Please..._

So she prays.

She supposes that it is irony at its finest that, when there is nothing and no one else for her to turn to, she once again sets her sights on the deity she stopped believing in.

She figures that Lelouch makes her want to believe again. Because if anything could save him, then she would gladly give up all that she had.

 _Lelouch..._

For the first time in centuries, she kneels before God and clasps her hands in front of her chest, interlocking her fingers in a way that feels foreign to her, after all this time. She kneels, and she lets herself hope. She lets herself wish as she closes her eyes and feels the first tear begin to fall.

Because even from halfway across Britannia, she can hear it happening. She can visualize the gasps, the shock and confusion, the relief, of the people as they spot Zero racing toward the Demon Emperor. She can see Zero's resolve as he thrusts his sword into her king.

And she doesn't want to.

She wants to look away, but she can't. She's imagined it happen too many times, and the vision is seared onto the back of her eyelids. Even the darkness that embraces her when she closes her eyes brings her no comfort.

 _Please, live._

And in this silence, she wants to scream. She wants to scream and scream and never stop—

—something deep inside her, the constantly thrumming link between her and Lelouch, the pulsing chain keeping them together, keeping them contracted, snaps—

—gone.

He's _gone_.

Plunged into the unfathomable abyss below.

Falling, dying, dead.

Her world—her entire _universe_ —crashes and burns down around her in a celebration of chaos, of catastrophe, and she can do nothing but watch helplessly.

Watch and pray inside a church, where it's silent. So silent. Too silent. Lelouch is _dead_ and all she can hear is silence. She hates silence.

 _I'm sorry. I wish we could have had more time._

 _It's odd,_ she thinks. She has an eternity. She is _immortal._ And yet the time she longs to have with the man she can only dream of keeps slipping through her fingers, out of her grasp, and now he is no longer hers.

She wonders if he had ever even been hers to begin with.

 _I would give it all up for another minute with you._

Death hurts. This is the truth, the _reality_ , she has always been taught. This is what she knows from everything she has lived through.

But it has never hurt as much as it does now.

 _Goodbye, Lelouch._

* * *

 **afterwards**

 _"I swear I'll never leave you."_

 _She smiles at him, giving him her hand and letting him lead her away from the noise of responsibility, the clamor of duty, the cries for war. She tightens her grip on his hand as if she fears that if she were to let go, he will disappear forever._

 _He glances back at her and laughs at her antics. "Don't you trust me?" he says teasingly, and the smile on his face makes her forget everything else. "I'm yours forever, Cera. Remember?"_

 _"As I will always be yours," she says in return, voice free of hesitation. She loves him, and she knows it. She pretends to be invincible, but all it takes is the melody of his happiness, and she will fall. Because her heart is aligned with his, and she is glad that it is._

 _It is how she wants it to be._

She wakes with a sob, the terror building up in her throat and in her eyes, tears running down her face. She tastes her misery on her lips and it makes her want to hurl. She's lost everything that has ever mattered to her, and now, she can feel his face—those regal, aristocratic features, the sharp lines, his imperial amethyst—deteriorating in her memory.

Like everything else, she's beginning to forget, and though she's seen him before in the pictures of a history book, she doesn't want to remember him as the unforgivable villain everyone else sees him as. Because he is no villain, and his only crime is stealing her heart.

She no longer remembers why she loves him, only that she does.

 _No,_ she refutes fearfully. _No, that's not true. I remember everything. I can't forget him, not him. I—I love him because he saved me from myself. Because he reminded me what it felt to be human. Because he showed me beauty in an ugly world._

And she doesn't want to forget. She doesn't want to when forgetting means signing herself a sentence in which she lives without him guiding her every step and every breath of the way.

She doesn't want to when forgetting means accepting.

 _Even if no one else does, even if the memory of your face is beginning to blur, I'll never forget. Not you. I refuse to._

And when she glances out the window, into the sky, all she can see is a sea of violet. It claims her vision, swimming around in her eyes until it has become her. Until she can no longer remember what her life used to be like without the color of his soul.

Because she loves him. She knows that now, even if he is dead. Even if he has left her alone in the unmerciful marching of time.

Because—

"Miss C.C.?"

—she gave herself to him long ago.

 _I have always been yours, Lelouch. From the moment I met you and let you ensnare me in your trap._ A bittersweet smile is on her face when she pushes herself off the bed—cold, without him beside her to give her the warmth she once basked in—and walks toward the door. She opens it in one swift motion, giving the man who stood in front of her a once-over. "Jeremiah," she says in acknowledgement. "What is it?"

She accepts his company because she recognizes the look on his face. It is the look worn by someone in mourning, someone who grieves with everything they have. It is the same look she sees on herself every time she stares in the mirror.

It is the one thing they share; their despair.

His lips twist into a smile of sadness. "Miss C.C., this was left behind for you."

She ignores the twinge of pain that hits her like a shockwave at his words. Lelouch's corpse is left behind for her. _She_ is left behind by Lelouch.

"Oh?" Her voice masks her agony well, but she knows that he hears it by the pained look in his eye. He says nothing and only drops a small parcel into her hands—something so plain, so nondescript, that she remembers her time as an empress with a dry laugh.

He offers her a small nod and turns around, walking back down the hallway. Just as she's about to close the door, he stops at the end of the corridor and gives her a glance over his shoulder.

She stops.

Regretfully, he says, "Happy birthday, Cera."

His words shock her enough that she says nothing about his use of her real name— _"Don't call me that! It is a name only Lelouch can wield,"_ she would have usually hissed. But this time, all that leaves her is an empty sort of silence.

She blinks and, as she snaps out of her trance, she realizes that he is already gone, and the only thing left in his wake is the deafening ringing in her mind.

It buzzes. It stings.

Because this is a birthday without Lelouch alive to smile—to smirk—at her. Without him to watch her cut her cake, or blow out her candles, or make her wish. (Now, if she ever has the chance to wish upon tiny flickering flames again, her wish would be to have him back. That is what it will always be, from now on.)

She slams the door shut, barely holding herself together as she shakes with unshed tears, half-collapsing against the door.

 _Why?_

Lelouch is dead.

And she is left immortal, standing strong where he has fallen.

All she wants is to lie down beside him and stay by his side forever.

All she wants is to journey into the abyss with him, as the witch to his warlock.

 _Lelouch..._

Sometime later, long after Jeremiah has left and she's composed herself, she opens the parcel in a daze. There is nothing but a flash-drive; its metal winks at her, coaxing her to see what it holds for her.

So she does.

After all, she has nothing left to lose.

But when she is greeted by Lelouch's face smiling at her, as though nothing is wrong, she finds herself staring wide-eyed at his bliss, her heart shattering inside her chest as her skin blocks the noise from anyone that might hear it break apart.

She is drowning in her misery, in his death, in _their_ death.

She drowns in life.

 _"Cera."_

She is exploding, combusting, at his first word, her name. It is a voice she's missed, one she's longed to hear for so long. It is a voice that has been dead to her for months.

 _"If you're seeing this, then I must be dead, and Zero Requiem has finally come to fruition."_

There is a hint of pride in his voice and she loathes it. She wants to wipe his smile off his face because this is no time for smiling. It is a time for sadness because he is no longer with her.

He is no longer here to yell at her for buying so much pizza, or to threaten her with a gun pointed to his own head, or to be outraged when she flaunts herself around in a straitjacket. He is no longer here to laugh at her when he beats her at chess, or to grin as he manipulates the wills of others to his goals, or to boast to her when he outwits his elder brother, or to weep when his sister is turned against him (to count on her, for once, and let her hold him close while he breaks into a million shattered pieces).

He is no longer here to make her feel wanted; to lean against her, as though she is the only thing keeping him from falling and never rising again. He is no longer here to thank her with all the honesty she's never received before, or to beg her to smile.

He is no longer here to take her hand and whisper to her that he is hers—that he is her warlock.

He is no longer anywhere.

And everything is gone.

Not just him, but all of his chances, his opportunities, the possibilities spread far and wide. Everything he could have been and done has been robbed from him.

And she despises the world for stealing him from her. And for shoving him in her face to gloat about it.

 _"I'm sorry it had to come to my death, Cera. You should know that if I had the choice, if I thought that anything else would succeed in gaining peace, I would never have left you. I never wanted to."_

But he did leave her. He left her and she can only weep over his body, now.

His death keeps her grounded, because she never wants to feel that type of pain ever again.

 _"You know that, right?"_

Does she?

 _"And I'm sorry for butting into your life like this now, after all this time, but I had to. Because I never really said goodbye to you, my queen."_

No.

She panics.

 _No!_ she yells in her mind. _Don't you dare!_

She hates goodbyes. He should know that.

 _Please, don't._ Anything but a goodbye.

 _"You have always been there for me, even when I didn't want you to be. You stood up for me and with me always, and I thank you for that."_

She squeezes her eyes shut, wanting to turn away from the screen, but she finds herself unable to. It captivates her, and even though it hurts, so much, too much, she can't shut the computer off.

 _But I betrayed you..._

The tears are pressing to her skin, suffocating her and leaving her cold and shivering.

 _"I'm sorry I couldn't fulfill your wish and uphold my end of our contract, Cera."_

She shakes her head despite herself, and even though he can't see or hear her, she murmurs weakly, "Stop. I don't want to hear your sorries. I don't care if you granted my wish or not! I just wish you're still alive."

That's all she wants.

 _"I love you, Cera."_

Those words steal away her breath and she sobs, choking, strangled. Her eyes burn with fresh tears as they escape again, and she grits her teeth.

He loved her?

He loved her.

 _Lelouch…_ Isn't that what she has always hoped for? _Not like this… not when you're dead…_

 _"I love you, and I swear, not even death can take that away from me. Because you are more than just my contractor, my accomplice. Because when the whole world turned against me, and I had nothing, you grabbed me by the hand and told me I would always have you. You told me I'd never be alone, and in that moment I realized how true that was. I have never been truly alone. You have always been there."_

(Even though she betrayed him to his parents.)

(Even though she left him to confine herself to her memories.)

(Even though she'd been nothing but rude and cruel and horrible to him.)

She weeps silently and drops her face, curling into herself and digging her eyebrows into her knees. Even when she isn't looking into his eyes, she remembers the feel of his stare—it weighs down on her, presses against and into her—and she remembers him without even trying to.

She doesn't have to strain to conjure up his face because she recognizes that he has never truly left her. Not when her memories of him are still so vivid, living inside her mind and thrashing around wildly, refusing to be contained.

She can never escape him.

 _"It was always you."_

But does she even want to?

 _"Happy birthday, Cera."_

Her name rolls off his tongue as though it belongs to him, and she cries because she knows that she loves him and she can't do anything about it. He doesn't say goodbye, but he doesn't have to, she muses, because she can hear it everywhere. In his _voice,_ she hears goodbye. And in his eyes, she sees goodbye. There is no escaping it.

But sometimes, it doesn't matter, because though she's lost him she hasn't really _lost him._ She still has everything. Everything she loves. Everything she never believed she'd have, when the nun betrayed her to a life of misery.

The memories make it worth it, make her smile and not regret loving him. Because how can she regret _that_?

How can she regret the pain when the pain isn't all there is? When there is love and beauty whenever she remembers him, too?

Because she remembers it all.

She remembers all the little things; the things that make her skin tingle and heart race.

She remembers why she loves him:

The look in his eyes when he wakes up, first thing in the morning, and stares at her as if he can't believe she's there, with him.

The desperation when he kisses her, as if he is lost and drowning at sea and she is the air he's trying to inhale, to devour.

Learning the shape of his lips and his face as if they were her own.

His hands running through her hair and all over her body, finding his way around her as if he is a blind man and she is his treasure.

His voice before he goes to sleep, small and drowsy and afraid, as though he fears she and everything else will disappear if he closes his eyes.

The way he leans on her and holds her as he cries like he's a little boy again—and she's the only thing keeping him together.

The feel of his hand intertwined in hers, and the way he squeezes her tightly when he needs reassurance.

The way he wakes up in the middle of the night and calls her 'beautiful' when she groans and tells him to sleep.

His face when he looks at her and he thinks she's not looking—like he doesn't see the scars, or the centuries of age, or the anger and hatred and greed in her; like none of that matters to him because he sees her smile and he falls in love.

His lips on hers; a galaxy she has yet to explore.

The way he notices all the little things, like when she's cold or hungry or bored, and the way he cares.

He told her he would ensure that she would die smiling. He's the first person to have cared enough to make a promise like that. _I'll live smiling, too,_ she swears.

He gave them all this second chance, this opportunity at a peaceful live. He gave it to everyone who hated him, who betrayed him, who had always wished to see him dead. He gave it even to his greatest enemies. So she will live for him. She will live and she'll strive for happiness, because it's what he would have wanted. She will embrace the future he left for them all in his wake; one without violence or war.

It's the least she can do.

* * *

 **fin.**

* * *

 **A/N: I know this one is super similar to the first one, but to be honest I wrote this one first, so I figured I'd upload it anyway for anyone who wants to read it. Hope you enjoyed.**


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